Kiss of Death
by Heart of a Music Box
Summary: Kenny's many deaths take him back and forth between heaven and hell. Who waits for him in hell?


Kenny awoke strapped to what appeared to be an operating table. He was belted down tightly, so only his shoulders and neck had any real mobility. The room was illuminated by a low, eerie orange light that was flickering. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he lay bound in a cave, brownish-red in stone color lit by numerous miniature bonfires. The stalactites high above dripped a thick, bright red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood, and rats-the creatures Kenny despised the most-scurried and scattered below him, chattering madly.

He rolled his eyes; of course, he had to be in Hell.

It had become an alternating pattern, his soul's custody being split between the "kingdom of God" and "Satan's inferno". It had begun after he'd turned eleven, because he'd died the night before and found himself before the golden gates of heaven. He'd died again the next day and was soon scrambling at the brimstone with horned demons hot in his pursuit. It had become a bit tiresome after his sixteenth birthday-even more so than discovering he still couldn't die permanently-and now as he neared his seventeenth, it had become downright irritating. He'd been hit by a drunkenly-driven Hummer this time, and of course neither Craig nor Stan, who'd been with him at the time, would remember anything about it.

He'd never been to this part of Hell before. He'd never woken up bound like an out-of-control patient in a random cave, and despite knowing he'd be safe in his bed by morning, Kenny felt nervous.

After a half an hour had passed, he started to struggle, sick and tired of having blood dribbled on his face and having to wiggle his feet to keep the rodents at bay, but the strong leather belts held firm and he let out a frustrated, muffled scream. He didn't even want to start thinking on how hellishly hot it was-no pun intended-and that he was trapped in his winter parka.

He was just about to start trying to stop breathing when he heard footsteps from behind. Clicking steps, as though the intruder was wearing boots and had small feet, got louder and louder until they stopped just behind the top of his head. Kenny cursed his hood and wild hair for blocking his vision.

"Kenny McCormick…" came a sinister whisper, followed by a snigger which could only be described as sadistic.

Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit fuck. He knew that voice.

"We meet again, but on my turf this time. I've seen you at school, around town, in limbo a few times, in the second circle a lot more often, and a few times in the fourth, but I've never had you in my house before. This is a treat worth celebrating."

Kenny tried to curse at him, but once again was muffled by his insufferable parka. Why the fuck did he keep buying the damned things?

He felt Damien's cool hand brush against his cheek, pushing away some of his sweaty strands of hair. His movements were soft, gentle even against his perspiring skin. He heard the gurney creek as the other boy leaned forward, sliding his hand further into his parka, down his chest and stomach, stopping briefly at the latter to push ever-so-slightly. Restraining himself from arching into the demon's touch, Kenny guessed that Damien knew thing in Hell that he didn't know on earth; people touching his stomach like that always made him a little aroused, and that was a secret he kept rather close.

Suddenly, his parka burst into flames. None of the blaze seemed to come in contact with Kenny's skin, but everything from the waist up-clothing wise-turned to ash in less than two seconds. He was now both exposed and helplessly bound before the son of Satan's devious grin, and he was now truly afraid.

"So skinny….the fat boy does mention your poverty quite often."

Damien's icy hand had made its way to the waistband of Kenny's pants, his achingly slow movements arousing the human teen being intensified by his sheer defenselessness before stopping, laying itself flat against his abs and pressing down slightly. Kenny leaned his head back so that he faced Damien's black-clad abdomen, feeling a sudden urge to bite him.

"You fascinate me, Kenny, you really do."

He was moving, walking around the table to stand to Kenny's right, and so the blonde finally got his first good look at him. He stood at just about Kenny's height, give or take an inch, with a skinny body with sharp-looking angles where his natural curves should have been. His pointed canines and scarlet eyes gleamed sinisterly in the low light, and his silhouette which towered over them was intense and intimidating. Somehow, Kenny felt himself being aroused even further.

"A human that has died well over a thousand times and yet still is not truly dead. You cannot be truly alive either, having been deceased that many times, yes? You can't possibly be truly human then, either, can you?"

It seemed that the demon boy was speaking mostly to himself, and yet his powerful gaze never left Kenny's half-nude form. The blonde could have sworn he saw Damien's tongue moving back and forth behind his teeth hungrily, as if he was salivating. He shuddered with a strange mix of provocation and fear.

"I'd love to tear you open, Kenny. I'd love to experiment on you, violate you until barely the marrow of your bones remains. I'd love to see exactly what that immortal body of yours can endure."

Kenny was certain he had a boner now, with the tone in which Damien spoke those threatening words. His voice was breathy and low, and if he'd been closer Kenny was sure he could've felt heat radiating from his breath. He strained against his bindings again, but for a different incentive this time.

Damien removed his hand then, only to reach over Kenny and grasp the other side of the gurney, pulling himself up and over into a straddling position across the blonde's waist. Balanced and situated, he put his left hand on the center of Kenny's chest and dug his nails in, drawing blood but not slicing him as he'd described his wish to be.

It was then Kenny realized that his body was dissolving. He realized, with a jolt, that it must be early morning in South Park, and that meant soon he'd leave this cavern-possibly forever-and wake up in his run-down old house with his battered family and his friends acting like nothing had ever happened. He whimpered low in his throat, wishing to stay just a bit longer. He saw a flicker of what looked like disappointment in Damien's eyes as the demon boy leaned closer, bringing their faces together so that their noses touched.

"I see…I'll be waiting for you when you return, Kenny."

The last thing Kenny remembered before waking up was the feeling of chilled, smooth lips pressing against his own; a true kiss of death.


End file.
